


Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s Book of Dares

by liliapocalypse



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas fic, Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, High School SakuAtsu, Light Angst, M/M, Secret Notes & Dares, Secret Penpal, alternating pov, dash & lily au, spring high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliapocalypse/pseuds/liliapocalypse
Summary: Tired of Sakusa’s lack of a love life, Komori decides to take matters into his own hands as he and Sakusa leave a notebook full of dares in the baggage area, letting fate take its course. Meanwhile, a competitive Atsumu picks up the red notebook and takes on the challenge, combing through the anonymous writer's dares and messages for the rest of Spring High.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 214





	Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s Book of Dares

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is one big, self-indulgent mess. I haven't read the Dash & Lily books yet, so this is based solely on the Netflix adaptation. 
> 
> Also! I _know_ Spring High is on January, but I moved it to December 18 because the fic has to build up to Christmas for the AU. I also know I could have just used the All-Japan Youth training camp but it was too small of a group and it would have been easy to figure out who the person behind the notebook is. 
> 
> Some lines (though very few) are taken directly from the show. Also Sakusa and Atsumu might be slightly OOC. (I might have subconsciously made them a bit kinder and gentler in the spirit of Christmas lol.)
> 
> And lastly, the underage archive warning is for Sakusa and Suna who are still 17 at this time in canon (December 2013). The Miya twins and Komori are already 18 here.
> 
> Merry Christmas, everyone! Enjoy!

_Imagine this. Adrenaline is rushing in your veins, the love of the game keeping you going even long after the final whistle, pushing you towards the next. And the next. And the next._

_And then, you see it: there, nestled between the familiar spheres of yellow and blue, sits a red notebook._

_Imagine you’re in the Tokyo and it’s Christmas. You’re surrounded by people, by possibility, and the hope that, somewhere in the city is that one person that’s meant for you. You just have to find them._

_How do you do that?_

_It all depends on the kind of person you are._

* * *

In hindsight, maybe it _was_ stupid to follow a red notebook’s instructions.

He can remember it clearly: he saw a red notebook at the bottom of the ball cart at the baggage storage room after their first game.

Atsumu crouched to pick it up before someone could dump more volleyballs on top of it. The red hardbound was smooth under his fingertips, the cover was plain except for a title handwritten in permanent marker.

> _Do you dare…?_

Born with a twin, Atsumu was destined to be snoopy. That’s just how it is. So, when he found a notebook in a gym? For a _volleyball tournament_? There’s no question.

Atsumu opened the notebook.

> _I’ve left some clues for you._
> 
> _If you want them, turn the page._
> 
> _If you don’t, put the book back on the shelf._

Atsumu gripped the hardbound tightly. He was bone tired. It’s Day 2 of the Spring High and Inarizaki just won their first match. He had just finished his stretches. He should eat lunch first or sit down, maybe even plan tomorrow’s gameplay by watching footage of their next opponents. He should literally do _anything_ except indulge what is most likely a prank by a very bored high school athlete.

He turns the page.

> _So, you’ve chosen to play. A revealing choice._
> 
> _In the spirit of normalizing sharing pronouns, it’s he/him for me. If you don’t respect people’s preferred pronouns, put the notebook back in the bin._
> 
> _So. Let’s begin with a coded message. You can decipher it with the right volleyball knowledge. Oh, and if you have to ask someone else or look up the internet, don’t even bother. Put the notebook back and let someone else play._
> 
> ____ _____ _____ ____ ____

Atsumu smirked as he read. He could practically feel the challenge radiating off the page. _Okay, Notebook-kun. Let’s play_.

“Hey, does anyone have a pen?” Atsumu asked. When he looked up, he saw Suna flopped on the ground and Osamu looking back at him with one eyebrow raised. “We’re in a volleyball tournament, ‘Tsumu. Who the hell would bring a _pen_?”

“I have one,” a freshman interjected. Atsumu poked his tongue out to his twin and promptly took the pen. His eyes flickered back to the open notebook.

> _Okay, easy round: The only part of volleyball you do alone (1-3)_

That was easy. Too easy. To Atsumu it was like asking a first grader to count to three. Atsumu almost put the notebook back, turned off by the lack of a challenge. He still didn’t understand the numbers, though, and he refused to be defeated by a stupid notebook, so he kept going.

> _Next: The strategy wherein three blockers are positioned at the center of the court and move together to block. (1-2)_

_Bunch shift. Duh._ He still didn’t understand what the numbers meant, so he took a wild guess, writing down the third letter from serve and the second letter of bunch in tiny letters at the upper right corner of the page. _R U. Huh_.

The next questions became increasingly harder. The winner of Interhigh three years ago. The name of the national team’s regular libero. The technique that Brazil used during the match point against Japan in the Olympics. One question almost threw him off, though.

> _Winner of the MSBY Black Jackals and Schweiden Adlers 2003-2004 V. League Game (2-2)_

_Touché, Notebook-kun. Almost got me_. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to answer it had it not been the game he and Samu first saw on TV, the game that brought him deeper and deeper into volleyball mania. The game was so pivotal for Atsumu it might as well be the one that decides his career, remembering the business cards nestled deep within his wallet. Atsumu writes down L with a tiny smile on his lips.

As he went on, he hypothesized that the first number was for the nth word of the answer, and the second number was for the nth letter. Black was the second word, and L was the second letter in it. He feared that his hypothesis was wrong for a while until he realized that the scramble of letters was slightly coherent.

R U L O N E L Y

 _Are you lonely?_ The question threw Atsumu off with its tact. It was a question that has been lingering on his head for a while, except now it was tangible.

Atsumu and turned the page.

> _If you have three words by now, you’re in the right track._
> 
> _A few rules, though. If you are not a teenage boy, please return the notebook._
> 
> _Also: Love is love is love. Everyone has their own spectrum. I respect that. However, if men aren’t in yours, please put the notebook back._
> 
> _And finally, if you made it this far, you’re obviously neck-deep in volleyball like I am. That’s a good start. (Bonus if you’re going pro, too. I know I will.)_
> 
> _Two words left. But I want to know:_
> 
> _Are you brave?_

Atsumu flipped the page and saw a bond paper folded in four, tucked neatly in between. He opened a page that left him shocked, mouth gaping open.

“Oh, hell no.”

Atsumu hated himself, truly, as he and the team filtered out of the storage area, the last instructions burning in his head. He slipped away and talked to the head of Inarizaki’s cheerleading squad, then walked towards the big face decal on the lobby of the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium with a megaphone on hand.

_You better be worth it, Notebook-kun._

He could still see the sea of red on his peripheral, the confused looks from both his teammates and the cheering squad trained on Atsumu’s retreating back.

As he stood in the middle of the busy lobby, Atsumu took a deep breath and held the megaphone to his lips. “Hi. Hello. Sorry to interrupt yer lunch, but… I’ve been told to do a dramatic readin’. So… sorry about that.”

Atsumu cleared his throat, drowning out the curious whispers and stares, and began reading the lyrics to Joni Mitchell’s _River_ from the printout. “It’s comin’ on Christmas. They're cuttin’ down trees. They're puttin’ up reindeer and singin’ songs of joy and peace. Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on.”

His mind recalled the cold, brutal instruction.

_Do a dramatic reading of this song in the lobby at lunch. You can assure that I won’t be able to see you because I’ll be eating lunch in the baggage area._

_Oh, and borrow a microphone or a megaphone for this. Someone will tell me if you didn’t. Good luck._

Atsumu sighed, eyes scanning the next verse. The whispers and the people crowding him grew bigger. Apparently the best high school setter suddenly performing a dramatic reading of a very sad song during Spring High was going to gather intrigue. “But it don’t snow here, it stays pretty green. I’m gonna make a lot of money then I'm gonna quit this crazy scene. I wish I had a river I could skate away on.”

His mind wandered at the dare, then the lyrics. Notebook-kun probably thought that Atsumu would be thrown off by it, but… he actually liked the song. He had listened to it before and loved how the song just resonated in him. There was something about the lyrics—about just wanting to get away. About being too hard to handle, being selfish and sad.

He was about to reach the third paragraph when a guard wrangled the megaphone out of his hand. He was just about to spew dozens of apologies when the guard spoke. “Just putting you out of your misery because you’re done. The guy told me to tell you this: first line, last two words. Now stop making us suffer, kid.”

The man turned to walk away, but Atsumu yanked on his uniform before he could and received a scowl in return. “Wait, wait, I’m sorry, but… can ya tell me who he is? Or what team? What prefecture?” The guard only glared at him, and Atsumu just flashed a tiny, toothy grin in a pathetic attempt to woo the guard.

It didn’t work.

“Even if I knew, kid, I can’t tell you. Just finish the last instruction and leave the notebook on my station. I’ll give it back to him.”

Atsumu reopened the notebook and grabbed the pen from his pocket. He looked back at the printout and wrote the final words.

> Are you lonely on Christmas

Atsumu turned the page.

> _What happens next is up to you. Leave a message telling me how this time of year makes you feel. If I like your answer, you just might hear from me. If you’re not scared._

He _was_ scared. Atsumu began writing, anyway.

* * *

Kiyoomi was still reeling as he stared at the retreating back of the guy Komori tried to hook him up with.

“What… the _fuck_ , Komori?” Kiyoomi muttered under his mask, hands shoved on the pockets of his yellow-green jacket. He stood at the corner of the baggage storage area as the team organized their things.

“I can’t believe you rejected him! He’s cute, too!”

“We’re nothing alike! He’s not even going pro. Wasn’t his team eliminated today?”

Komori rolled his eyes as he folded his Itachiyama jacket. “Your standards are too high. Don’t you want to date someone before you graduate? We’re third years already!”

“I’m going to do it in my terms.”

“You keep saying that but you’re not even doing _anything_.”

Komori rolled his eyes and grabbed Kiyoomi’s duffel bag, taking out a red hardbound notebook. “Hey, what are you doing—”

“I know you’re not going to do something about it so I will.” He proceeded to tear off the first three pages full of volleyball notes and journals. Kiyoomi was just about to complain when Komori shushed him.

“Okay, here’s my idea. We leave this notebook here, in the bins maybe, then we write questions about volleyball. Maybe we write dares. Or we ask them to tell stories about themselves to see if you two are compatible. If you don’t like their answers, we can just try again and wait for someone else to pick it up.”

“I think you’re overestimating. People our age don't care that much—”

Komori only raised his index finger before rummaging through Kiyoomi's bag to find the pen that the former knows is there. “Look, if you’re going to help me or not doesn’t matter because I’m leaving this notebook here either way.”

Kiyoomi grunted, sitting beside his cousin as they brainstormed possible questions. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes as he wrote Komori’s elementary volleyball questions—“Any scrub would be able to answer that, jeez”—before they began grading up the questions. Kiyoomi smiled to himself as he thought of the MSBY vs Schweiden question. Something about MSBY had intrigued them since he first saw the game on TV, and now his interest in joining the team only grew with his competitive streak when Miyagi’s southpaw Ushijima joined the Adlers this year.

As Komori made a show of slowly dropping the notebook on one of the empty ball bins (to which Kiyoomi answered with a grunt and an eye roll), Kiyoomi thought about why he played along in the first place. Komori has been insistent about setting up dates for Kiyoomi for a while now, but Kiyoomi knew he’d stop if he just ignored the libero. He didn’t, though.

He knew what people thought when they saw him, hidden in a corner with his sanitizers and his mask. That self-consciousness was what stopped him from even attempting to confess to Ushijima during the peak of his now non-existent crush on the spiker—what was stopping him from everything else.

As the two walked along the gym, scanning the various games taking place from above, Kiyoomi spoke. “Hey, Komori. If someone actually pushes through with the dare, people might talk about it. Especially the River one. Can you make sure I don’t know who it is?”

“I mean, sure, yeah. Why though?”

Kiyoomi huffed, fiddling with his fingers. “It’s just easier that way.”

It’s easier to say things he wouldn’t say out loud to a stranger. It’s easier to write about feelings and his life to a nameless, faceless person on a notebook, and Kiyoomi wants it to stay that way until he feels secure and confident enough to even tell his name, much less show his face.

A little later over lunch, a familiar figure walked towards Kiyoomi. “Hey, kid. Someone took the bait.”

Kiyoomi took the notebook with wide eyes, Komori practically beaming beside him. “Even the dare?” The guard laughed in response. “Yeah. Had a megaphone and everything. He looked really stiff at the beginning, but he pulled through.”

Kiyoomi bowed deeply at the guard, staring at the notebook in awe. He can’t believe some idiot actually went through it. He can’t believe his cousin’s stupid idea might actually _work_. “Thank you, Ishida-san.” His fingers opened the notebook immediately, eyes greeted with wide and tilted handwriting, letters spanning the top and bottom lines. His handwriting was so loud in comparison to Kiyoomi’s neat and tiny strokes.

> **The MSBY-Schweiden question. That was such a deep cut. Good job on that one. That was the game that made me want to try out volleyball, and well, here we are now. And yes, I am going pro as soon as I graduate, too. I hope we become teammates one day, Notebook-kun~**
> 
> **And for the holidays, if I am right by guessing that we are “kindred spirits”, I actually really like Christmas. My brother and my ma are really good cooks, so the food is always the best part. The gift giving is always fun, too. What about you, Notebook-kun? Do you like Christmas, too?**

“Oh, god,” Kiyoomi began. Komori turned his head at the sudden reaction. “He likes Christmas.”

Komori guffawed right after, shaking in his laughter. “Wow, you really found the anti-thesis to your Grinch heart, Kiyo. I have to thank fate for that one.”

Kiyoomi likes tradition and routine. That was the one thing he liked about Christmas, and even that was slowly chipped away from him the past few years. But beyond that, he hated the chaos of it all. The crowded malls and streets, everything suddenly becoming two or three times as expensive, the sheer loudness of it. If people calmed down a bit during the holidays, maybe Kiyoomi would actually like it more.

> **Anyway, I answered it all correctly and even humiliated myself in front of some of the best high school volleyball players in Japan right now, so… do I get to know your name? Because honestly, I think I deserve it. It’s weird calling you Notebook-kun in my head.**
> 
> **I also have a dare for you, though. Fair is fair, right?**

18 hours later, Kiyoomi found himself slipping out of their hotel and walking to the to where he was instructed. Their hotel was pretty close to the gym, but the walk was still long enough to cause a slight burn in his calves.

As he walked down the circular path surrounding the pond, the sky dark blue with tinges of orange peeking through, Kiyoomi reopened the notebook to the last page.

> **Go to the Shimono ike pond at the Shinjuku Gyoen Natural Garden. I know it’s a bit of a walk, but I swear it’s worth it, especially in the early hours of the morning. I usually go there to calm myself before the day begins, or I escape there after our matches are over. It feels like a piece of home in the insanely busy city, and I love it. I hope you do too, Notebook-kun.**
> 
> **You can leave the notebook to the guard again, I guess, so I can get it and do more of your dares if you still want to and I didn’t completely turn you off. Good luck on your match today, Notebook-kun! But not so much that you beat me!**

Kiyoomi smiled as he made his way towards the fence surrounding the pond. He was glad the guy made him go there in the morning, where only the occasional passerby strolled past. The fresh air was nice. Kiyoomi took the pen from the pocket of his jacket and began writing.

> _This was… nice, stranger-san. Sometimes I forget that going outside can be a good thing, too. I’m glad you found a piece of home here. Did you mean to give that away? That you’re not from Tokyo? Because you just did._
> 
> _And sorry, no, but I don’t enjoy Christmas. There are just too many people and I hate crowds. There’s so much happening all at once. I just want quiet and peace, and I can’t have that during the holidays. It’s so much worse here in Tokyo, too. Surely for someone who likes Christmas even you had a bad Christmas before, right?_
> 
> _Also, do not try beating me at my own game._ I _started this. You can’t trick me. I can’t give you my name because everyone can just look up the teams and their members’ names, positions, and year level._
> 
> _I’ll give you this, though: S.K._
> 
> _The next task is on the next page, if you’re still up for it. Good luck._
> 
> _P.S.: The guard’s name is Ishida-san. Be nice to him. I’ll know if you aren’t._

As he began to walk back to their hotel, Kiyoomi saw a glimpse of blonde-yellow hair, muted under the still dark blue and orange skies, many benches away from where he was. He had just began wondering if it really was Inarizaki’s setter when his phone's ringtone cut through the still Tokyo morning air, Komori’s face displayed on the screen.

Kiyoomi took one last look at the direction of the unmistakable mustard hair, answered the call, and started walking back before he could do something he’d regret.

* * *

When the guard walked to Atsumu, red notebook in hand, it was like Christmas morning arrived. He was so giddy, he opened and read it immediately, eyes greeted by the Notebook-kun’s tiny, uniform letters.

He felt Osamu peeking from his left and Suna from his right. “Oooh, is that _Notebook-kun_?” Atsumu only rolled his eyes at Suna’s jabs and went back to reading. He told Osamu and Suna about Notebook-kun the night before, and the two have been teasing him about it ever since. “What is yer _boyfriend_ tellin’ ya to do now?”

Atsumu scowled at his twin, closing the notebook. “He’s not my boyfriend. Shut it.”

 _K.S._ If he had the time, and if today wasn’t the grueling Day 3 that had back-to-back matches, he’d probably scour through all the teams to look for someone who had K.S. as an abbreviation. He had time for Notebook-kun’s dare, though. “I’m goin’ to the shrine first.”

“Hey! We have a game, idiot!” His twin can only yell at their captain’s retreating back, wrist flicking in dismissal. “I’ll be back with time to spare before warm-up, I promise!”

But first, he has a task to accomplish.

Atsumu didn’t know what to expect when he reached the Hatonomori Hachiman Shrine but based on what little he knew about Notebook-kun, it seemed perfect for the stranger.

As he passed through the torii of the shrine, he tried to imagine what Notebook-kun does when he goes there. It was homey for a shrine in a busy city. The sight of the hydrangeas relaxed him, the sway of the bamboo forest easing his mind. Soon he found himself climbing a tiny hill, a replica of Mount Fuji, and smiling to himself as he stood on top. Atsumu opened the notebook to the last page.

_I always go here in our downtime, or on Day 1 before all the chaos and adrenaline. It calms my nerves a bit, as long as there are not a lot of people around (if it’s crowded, it only makes things worse). Hachiman is the god of war, but this place still gives me a peace of mind, especially before a match, ironically. Although I guess, given our future professions, it’s only fitting, don’t you think?_

_Whoever you are, I’m still beating you in this tournament, though. (About going pro: I might go to college first, unlike you, but I’ll definitely be there. Just wait.)_

_Writing to you in this notebook feels as calming as going to that shrine. I don’t know why it’s so much easier saying things to a stranger on paper, but I feel like it's okay even if I tell you about my whole life. I feel like you understand me better than most. Is that just me? Is that weird? I don’t know. I like talking (or writing) to you. I hope that’s not just me._

He walked a bit more to get a fortune, grinning as he took a cute bird-shaped omikuji after shedding a couple yen. Somehow, he didn’t need even to check to see the 大吉 on the paper. _Great blessing_.

Atsumu didn’t need an omikuji to tell him that, though. He slipped the omikuji safely in his pocket.

Before he made the trek back to the gym, however, he stopped by the nearby rice shop as instructed, flashing the red notebook to the seller who gave him a six-pack umeboshi onigiri.

> _If you go through with this, go to the nearest rice shop and show the notebook. The seller will know what to do. Umeboshi is my favorite, so I hope you enjoy it, too._
> 
> _I know the point of this thing is to know each other (…unless you don’t want to, I guess?), but I don’t think I’m ready to see you face-to-face yet. Before the tournament ends, though, I will. (Only if you want to.) Hopefully. If I don’t chicken out._
> 
> _Good luck on your matches today, too, stranger-san._

Atsumu smiled as his teeth sank into the onigiri, the rest swinging in a plastic bag, reserved for his twin. Oh, Atsumu definitely wanted to know him more. He has never wanted anything more like this since he started playing volleyball, it’s almost scary.

Like everything else, though, Atsumu faced it head on, determined.

* * *

Kiyoomi didn’t have the best stamina. He knew that, panting and heaving after two consecutive matches. He had _always_ loathed Day 3, sometimes even more than finals.

Which is why seeing Ishida-san with the red notebook felt like the reprieve he needed from the grueling day.

Until he read what the other boy had in store for him.

“What the _fuck_?” Komori looked over his shoulder to stare at the open page that left Kiyoomi gaping. His cousin only laughed at his distress. “Oh, my god. Good luck, I guess.”

Kiyoomi groaned, closed the notebook, and hit his head against the cover repeatedly to Komori’s amusement. “You _did_ ask him to do a dramatic reading in front of everyone, so that’s just fair. It’s not even as humiliating as the dare you asked him to do. Don’t be a wimp, Kiyo!”

“I’m so tired and we have a game tomorrow. How am I supposed to do this?” He was trying to rack his brain on how to make it work, spewing every excuse he could think of. He knew the real reason he was resisting, and he knew Komori knew it, too.

“You hated this idea in the first place. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. We can just try again and wait for someone else to find the notebook.” Komori replied, the quirked eyebrow and the sneaky smirk speaking volumes. “Unless… you already like stranger-san.”

Kiyoomi then flopped against the gym floor. “Shut up, Komori.”

“You didn’t deny it, _Ki-yoo-miii_.”

Which is how he found himself outside the entrance of Meiji Jingu Gaien Ice Skating Rink, scowling at the steps.

He reopened the notebook as he walked to the counter, already wincing as the sound of children and adults alike assaulted his ears. Hesitantly, he gave out a handful of yen and was given a pair of skating shoes in return. Kiyoomi winced as he slipped them on both feet, trying not to think about all the other feet who had worn them before him.

> **From what I know of you, S.K./Notebook-kun (I can’t decide, I’m sorry), you probably don’t like crowds so much, so please don’t hate me for this one~**
> 
> **You don’t have to do the full hour. Even 20-30 minutes will do. I want you to take a chance on yourself, Notebook-kun. I figured you prefer being alone and keeping to yourself. The world is scary. It’s easier to hide. I get that. I do that sometimes, too. I mean, I went along with this notebook thing, didn’t I?**
> 
> **Do you remember your first question? “Are you lonely on Christmas?” Well, to tie that with your bad Christmas question, it might probably be this one. Without giving away too much, someone close to me decided to stop playing volleyball after I thought we’re going pro together [don’t worry, it’s not a romantic relationship whatsoever ;)]. If we win or lose here, either way, that’s the end. I’ll lose my teammates, too. I’ll be alone again. So I guess I am telling you what I have been trying to tell myself, too.**
> 
> **Because if I am reading (hehe, get it?) you right, I am telling you there’s nothing to be afraid of. Sometimes you just have to take the leap.**
> 
> **It gets lonely sometimes, I know. Maybe we’ll learn to find ways for people to stick around. Maybe we don’t. Maybe all we need is ourselves. I don’t know.** **But if you can bet your future on this unpredictable sport, you can take a chance on yourself, too. I know you can do it.**
> 
> **If you still don’t have it in you to trust yourself (I know you will soon, though), then trust _me_.**
> 
> **I might not be there physically, but I’ll be there with you every step of the way.**
> 
> **I believe in you, S.K. —M.A. (don’t you dare look through the rosters!)**
> 
> **P.S.: I’m always ready to meet you if you are. No pressure, though. I’ll wait.**

He stared at the blue paper strip wrapped around his wrist where the start and end of his skating time is printed. He had left his things, notebook included, in the lockers, but the words still ring in his head as he wobbly made his way towards the entrance.

Kiyoomi toed one skating shoe on the ice and froze.

To say the rink was crowded was an underestimation. There's only four days left before Christmas, after all. And if that isn’t bad enough, there is also a surge of people around the area because of the Spring High as parents, relatives and friends of players crowded to Tokyo to support.

As he stepped onto the ice, a few gazes flickered to him, some even daring to linger. He also noticed a few around his age staring and whispering and Kiyoomi knew they recognized him. He probably should have left his Itachiyama jacket to Komori.

His breath was becoming shallower and quicker. Lightheaded, he clumsily skated away from the rink, too frantic to even remove the skates, skating towards the thankfully empty restroom and locking the door.

Kiyoomi gripped the sink and hunched over it, eyes closed as he forced himself to calm down. He didn’t even know stranger-san—or _M.A._ , rather—but he felt like he let the boy down.

He let himself down.

He can smash through a three-man block, receive a deadly serve with ease, but outside the court, sometimes he just… falls apart. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s just _bad_. Kiyoomi always hated feeling out of control, hated the uncertainty of it all.

Except this time, he had not only failed himself. He also failed his mysterious pen pal who believed in him so much even as Kiyoomi hid in the comfort of anonymity.

Kiyoomi had just decided to leave when he looked up and saw a tiny writing on the otherwise pristine mirror. He wiped at the writing and some of the ink came off in his finger.

But it was unmistakable: there, in whiteboard marker, was the same handwriting he had spent the past twenty-four hours reading and analyzing.

> **Get back out there, S.K. :)**

He wasn’t spiraling anymore. Suddenly someone threw him a rope and showed him footholds his eyes completely glossed over in fear. His head is clearer than ever, breath now even and controlled, the way it always would when the perfect toss flies right into his hand and his palm strikes the perfect spike.

It was a feeling similar to a toss one could only make from weeks of practice, months of synchronization, and years of familiarity—except this one came from a total _stranger_. Because of a five-word phrase written on a bathroom mirror.

Kiyoomi’s chuckle echoed softly around the restroom. He raised his head to stare at the handwriting one last time, then he walked out the door.

* * *

A haphazard toss went flying to Osamu’s open palm, the weak spike slamming against the floor unsatisfactorily. “Calm down, ya prick! This is an important game!”

“I’m calm, Samu! Shut up!”

“No, yer not!”

Atsumu groaned, carding his fingers through his hair in frustration. They had been practicing outside the gymnasium for their upcoming game, but Atsumu’s head was far, far away. Osamu grabbed the neckline of his twin’s jersey and yanked him away from their juniors who stared at the twins questioningly. “Is this about Notebook-kun?”

Atsumu cringed and pressed his wrists against his eyes. He heard a few footsteps approach, then a voice. “Something wrong with Atsumu’s boyfriend?”

“He’s not my _boyfriend_ , Suna,” Atsumu spat, glaring at Suna, before promptly slouching again. “I think I went too far. The notebook should’ve here by now. I knew he didn’t like crowds and I asked him to go to the rink anyway. He probably hates me now. I really fucked up.”

“Well then, don’t fuck up this game, idiot, and show Notebook-kun what yer made of. Get yer shit together. The current game’s about to end.”

As the team entered the gymnasium, Atsumu slipped away to go to Ishida-san’s station, who only shook his head as he saw the blonde approach.

“I don’t think you have to worry, though,” Ishida-san supplied after Atsumu let out a deep sigh. “He’s probably just too focused in the game.”

It wasn’t a very good assurance, but something stood out to Atsumu that made him snap in attention. “So he’s playing today for the semifinals? He’s in the top four?”

Atsumu saw a brief moment of panic in the guard’s eyes, but it quickly gave way to the latter’s usual neutral and almost bored gaze. “I didn’t say anything about that. Could be today, could be yesterday, I dunno. Either way, just chill. He could be tired after playing two games. Don’t panic.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So he played two games yesterday. Either way he’s in the top eight.” Ishida groaned in frustration, having said too much already. “Just focus on your game and worry about it later. Go now, I have work to do!”

Atsumu was still trying to recall all the top 8 teams when he entered the court and the smell of salonpas and sweat shoved him back to reality. He’d worry about Notebook-kun later. He’s here to win.

It is in moments like this that Atsumu would surprise even himself when he realized that he did think about Notebook-kun—not even once—during the warm-up. What pulled him out of his immense concentration, however, was the sigh of a yellow-green jersey with a number 1 in the middle.

_S.K. Sakusa Kiyoomi…_

He bowed his head to the Tokyo native, lost in his own thoughts. _It can’t be, right? Prickly Omi-kun can’t be Notebook-kun. He wouldn’t do the things I dared Notebook-kun to do… right?_

“Are you not going to shake my hand, Miya?”

Sakusa’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he was greeted by a hand raised in mid-air. Atsumu quirked an eyebrow at the sight. “I thought you don’t like handshakes, Omi-kun?” The ace only shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Atsumu held his hand reluctantly, surprised at how smooth it was. Osamu’s wasn’t nearly as nice, and Itachiyama’s new captain is currently the top high school ace in the country. His hands weren’t supposed to be _soft_ , goddammit.

“Good luck, Miya.” Atsumu looked up to see a sly grin on the spiker’s face, to which he replied with an eyeroll. “I don’t need it. I’m going to win today, _Omi-kun_.”

The corner of the raven-haired boy’s lips only grew higher, eyes glinting with the same hunger for victory. “We’ll see.”

As Atsumu walked to the serving platform, his mind screamed at the possible connection between Notebook-kun and Itachiyama’s ace. For a while, Atsumu thought, maybe that wasn’t so bad—

His rational side reigned for once, though. He silenced the chaos in his head with a sharp serve ace, resoundingly loud against the gym floors. _Not today, Omi-kun_. _Not today._

* * *

Even from across the net, Kiyoomi could hear the twins’ banter as both teams lined up for the handshake.

“Two years in a row ya provoke our opponents and say yer goin’ to win and then we don’t. If I didn’t know better, I’d think yer intentionally jinxin’ the whole team.”

“Why would ya even think that! I’m the _captain_. Why would I want ta lose?!”

When he reached out to shake the setter’s hand again, Kiyoomi tried to keep his face as neutral as possible. Now that the game is over, it was harder to keep his thoughts at bay.

 _M.A. Miya Atsumu._ It’s probably a bit of a jump. Atsumu can’t possibly be the only person in this gym with that abbreviation. But a tiny part of Kiyoomi thinks… or rather, hopes…

“Congrats, Omi-kun,” the blonde greeted as he grasped Kiyoomi’s hand. “Beat that seagull for me, will ya?”

Kiyoomi furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “I’m going to do that even if you didn’t tell me to, Miya.” The setter only laughed, taking Kiyoomi aback as he listened and watched the former glow in his laughter. _How is this even possible? He just_ lost.

As their team faced the audience for a bow, he felt Komori’s elbow repeatedly jab his hip. “What are you doing staring and pouting at Miya, huh? Are you choosing him over stranger-san? Huh? Huh?”

Kiyoomi straightened at the memory of stranger-san. When he went out of the restroom yesterday, he skated right back to the rink and set aside the stares and the whispers the way he always did with particularly noisy cheering squads. He was a bundle of nerves but he lasted thirty minutes dodging hollering children and teenagers. When he went back to their hotel, he was so tired that he only had energy to eat dinner then slumped on his futon, falling asleep almost immediately. The morning after, he woke up late and frantically hurried to complete his routines, red notebook forgotten.

In a rush, Kiyoomi ran to the baggage area and quickly changed into a fresh shirt, shoving his arms haphazardly into his yellow-green jacket before quickly asking permission to their coach to go back to their quarters first.

He was still so tired from the match, thighs shaking and ankles wobbling as he ran all the way to the hotel, fingers pressing insistently on the elevator doors. Once he opened his room, sat on the tiny desk, and held his pen with shaking fingers, he took a deep breath and let all the words flow.

“I’m ready to meet if you are,” the boy said.

_I am now. If you’re still willing._

As he ran back to the gymnasium, teammates bewildered at the sight of an extremely disheveled Sakusa Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi went straight to Ishida-san’s station. “Is he still here?” The man only smiled at him sadly. “His team already left a few minutes ago.”

It was then that his adrenaline decided to leave him, fatigue settling in all at once, he almost fell to the floor. Kiyoomi clutched the nearby table, fingers flexing tighter around the red hardbound.

He missed it. His pen pal had given up on him because he was a wimp, a coward, letting life take him along its course because he didn’t have the courage to do anything.

The one time he actually felt some sort of connection with someone, and of _course_ Kiyoomi fucks it up.

The older man takes the notebook off of Kiyoomi’s hands, a soft smile curving in his lips. “Who knows? He might still be here tomorrow. I’ll give it to him if I see him.” Ishida-san lightly patted his shoulders, comforting and reassuring. “Hey, you won. Hold your head up.”

“What if he lost already? He might have gone home by now. Because I honestly don’t think he’s in Kamomedai.” A faint huff escaped Kiyoomi’s lips. He could feel his shirt sticking to his torso, his curls drenched with sweat against his forehead.

“Just rest for now. Your team is waiting.” Kiyoomi could only bow and say his thanks. When he looked around he saw Komori approaching him, concern etched all-over his face.

Komori circled an arm around Kiyoomi’s shoulder, supporting him, his body the only thing keeping Kiyoomi from slipping as they made their way to the exit.

* * *

Atsumu didn’t sleep a wink that night.

It was a mishmash of thoughts that kept his eyes from closing. The things he could have done differently during the match. Sakusa. Notebook-kun. His stupid dare that pushed Notebook-kun away. How does he always manage to do that? What kind of fucked up talent was that?

He didn’t even realize how long he has been churning in his own thoughts until sunlight peaked through the windows, stirring up everyone in the team. If Osamu noticed the dark circles under Atsumu's eyes, he didn’t say anything about it.

The team has long planned to only leave on Day 5, convinced that they were going to make it until the end. Now that they lost, they figured the juniors could use the chance to observe their future opponents. Maybe it’d help mend the gaps in their play. They decided to leave the moment the game ends, though. No point rubbing salt on the wound, right?

He was practically dragging his feet through the gymnasium entrance when he heard someone yelling. “Hey! Hey! Blondie! Blondie from Inarizaki!”

Atsumu winced at the term, which only made Suna, Gin, and Osamu laugh harder. When he looked around, he saw Ichida-san waving a red notebook. He closed the distance between him and the guard, almost itching to hug the man in his happiness.

_Holy shit. I didn’t push him away._

“Told ya he was just too focused on the game. The boy was so tired, too,” Ichida began as Atsumu held the notebook, still wondering if it was actually real. “He’s still here, then?”

Ichida only shrugged, flashing a playful grin. “I don’t know. Just wait and see.”

Even with the notebook already in his grasp, Atsumu didn’t have the guts to open it until they found rows of empty seats and settled in. They are as close to the center court as they possibly can, jerseys of yellow-green and white-blue dotting the court as balls slammed over and over.

He stared at the notebook like it was going to explode. He was afraid of what S.K. had to say. What if this was the end? What if he sent the notebook back to say goodbye, to say that Atsumu was too much for him? That he couldn’t handle someone like him, and he no longer wanted to do anything with Atsumu?

Wasn’t that the doomed end of every single one of his relationships?

A smack to the head was the only thing that stopped his swirling thoughts. “Yer not goin’ to know if yer not goin’ to read it, dumbass.”

Atsumu couldn’t even come up with a snarky comment for that. He only sighed and gripped the notebook tighter. “I’m scared, Samu.”

“I know.” Osamu sighed. “Wouldn’t ya rather know, though? Rip the band-aid right off, right?”

Atsumu opened the notebook to the first page. He can’t believe it has only been three days since he saw that first message. How did it come to this?

The crinkling of plastic pushed his attention away from the notebook. The plastic shoved in his hand had two onigiris inside. “If yer goin’ to be dramatic before readin’, at least eat first. Yer not slick. I noticed ya skipped breakfast.”

His heart lurched as he limply held the plastic. Osamu may not be going pro with him, but maybe he’ll never be alone because Osamu will always be there, anyway.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened the notebook to the last page.

> _Hello, M.A._
> 
> _This notebook wasn’t my idea. It was my teammate’s. But I went along because… I no longer wanted to be alone. Not this Christmas. Not ever._
> 
> _And I didn’t always hate Christmas. What child hated Christmas, anyway? My favorite Christmas was the first one right after my cousin and I had gotten into volleyball, a time before crushes and girlfriends. The last one before my sister and brother had left for college, who rarely visited now, not even for the holidays. The last one before my parents deemed that I was officially too old for the Christmas traditions and routines I had clung unto._
> 
> _Now… I’m alone. And it’s boring. And sad. And I wanted to get away from it. Guess I asked you to read “River” for a reason. Also, wow. How petty of you to literally ask me to_ skate away _after that dare. Touché, I guess._
> 
> _I want to say that I am okay with my being alone. I want to say I’ve learned to live with it. I’m not, though. When I went into the rink, M.A… God, I freaked out. I froze. I was so worried about what people thought about me, a high school volleyball athlete skating alone. I only saw the bad, and I don’t do well with bad stuff. Or bad feelings. So I ran to the restroom, ready to leave, and then I saw your message._
> 
> _How do you know the right things to say and do? How, when you don’t even know me? How can someone I only know by penmanship already know me better than most people in my life? When I saw your message, it anchored me._
> 
> _Something about knowing that you knew how I felt made me feel like it was okay to get back out there._
> 
> _This time, I saw the good. People were having fun, which means I can either have fun or stay hiding. So I skated. I wish it was more amazing that it actually was. I didn’t last an hour. I didn’t talk to anyone or make bold moves. I mostly just… skated round and round for thirty minutes, trying my best not to be pummeled to death by screaming kids and giggling teenagers. I know it doesn’t sound like much but trust me that it’s miles away from my comfort zone. I saw your message, I joined them, and a whole new world opened up for me. I want to do the same for you, if you’d let me._
> 
> _I want to open a whole new world for you… with me in it. If you’ll allow me to._
> 
> _I want to see you, M.A. I don’t want you to be stranger-san anymore._
> 
> _You’ve made me take a chance on myself. Let me take a chance on this—on us—too._
> 
> _P.S.: I’m playing in the finals tomorrow. Just look at the players’ feet. I know it sounds weird, but trust me. You’ll know it when you see it, knowing that you also went inside the rink._

Atsumu’s breath was hollow in the best possible way, his head so fuzzy he cannot think straight.

He didn’t push Notebook-kun away. He actually wanted to move forward. With him.

_Holy shit._

It took him a while to regain his bearings as he repeatedly wiped his sweating palms on his jeans. _Someone actually chose to be with me._

Clarity reached him a few minutes later, his gaze darting immediately to the court, flickering along the constantly moving shoes.

Then he saw it. One of the players had a blue paper strip around his ankle. It was the same one he received once he dashed to the rink as soon as their match ended. He had wanted to look around the rink before daring Notebook-kun to go there, thinking up the restroom message at the very last minute. But he knew that paper, sitting within his wallet right beside the omikuji. After yesterday’s loss and the lack of contact from Notebook-kun, the fortune didn’t make sense. But as he stared at the court, heart racing fast, he’s beginning to see why. 

_Great blessing, huh?_

He checked the others’ ankles, just in case. Everyone else’s was bare.

Everyone except Sakusa’s.

* * *

Kiyoomi wouldn’t blame his team for thinking that their captain has finally lost it because he’s thinking the same thing.

The ever-meticulous Sakusa who always took the longest to stretch after matches was suddenly the first to finish, standing up immediately and excusing himself early to their coach for the second time in two days.

Even Komori, who knew exactly what was happening, was dazed as he watched his cousin sprint towards the open doors. Kiyoomi didn’t even seem that baffled losing to Hoshiumi a while ago. Hoshiumi actually looked a little pissed that he wasn’t able to draw a big reaction from the Tokyo native, even as he taunted Kiyoomi that he’s “taking the top ace title now”. 

Kiyoomi ran to Ishida-san’s station, still clad in his sweaty neon jersey. “The other guy. Did he get the notebook? Is he still here?”

The guard looked up from his logbook and nodded. “Got it before the match. Their team already left for their bus twenty minutes ago, though. You can check if they’re still there, I’m not sure. You can’t miss it. It has a huge Inarizaki High on the side.”

Kiyoomi could barely process anything other than that. _Inarizaki_ , his mind aimlessly repeated, not quite forming a cohesive thought, as he bowed and gave his thanks to the man and sprinted towards the parking lot, quads still burning intensely after that menacing 5-set game.

The parking lot was still partially full when he got there, his eyes scanning restlessly along every bus. The Inarizaki bus was nowhere to be found.

He was already thinking about alternatives, recalling memories of the shinkansen schedules and wondering if he’ll survive the night if he stayed at a dingy motel somewhere in Hyogo. He probably will, he didn’t care at that point, he’d do _anything_ —

“Hi, Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi turned around and saw a jarring vision of Atsumu in casual winter clothes. The most shocking of all is the red notebook in his hand and a soft grin that Kiyoomi decided is his favorite. (Not to discount the sly, foxy one that was the very reason he found himself staring at the setter during the All-Japan Youth training camp, though.)

Kiyoomi had been wondering about his quote-endquote _feelings_ for stranger-san for a while now. Is it actually possible to like someone he never met? Someone he only knew through a notebook? He knew that was how a lot of romances started in the time of snail mail, but now? In this day and age? Doubtful.

Seeing Atsumu there, though… everything made sense. Despite the surface rivalry, the two have known each other for a long time now. Fighting toe to toe in the finals during their first year, standing as the best ace and setter in all of high school volleyball, being selected for U-19, and all the other in-betweens. They have both, somehow, managed to worm their way in each other’s life even now, the evidence tangible on the stupid red notebook Atsumu is holding.

“Atsumu.” The mere mention of his name lifted the corners of his lips. _God. I’m really in it now, aren’t I?_

“Ya will allow me to stay over yer place, right? I asked to be left behind for this, Omi, ya better.” When Kiyoomi only looked back at Atsumu shell-shocked, Atsumu broke into a laugh, hand clutching his belly. “Okay, okay, t’was a joke, Omi-kun. Calm down. I’ll just take the last shinkansen ride to Hyogo. It’s fine. Yer worth it.” To his surprise, Atsumu ended the sentence with a wink. _A wink._

_Gods, help me._

Kiyoomi didn’t know what to say for a while, eyes lost in the setter’s gaze, before letting out a soft chuckle. He was shaking his head with the brightest smile Atsumu has ever seen Omi wear when he spoke. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

“No takebacks, Omi. Ya said yer takin’ a chance on this. Because I am, too.”

“That’s good to hear, then,” Kiyoomi began, closing the distance between them. “Because I’m counting on it.”

Kiyoomi grabbed onto the blonde’s scarf, pulling Atsumu’s lips to his in a soft and slow kiss. He could feel Atsumu’s lips twist to a smile against his, the smile lingering long after the kiss.

“Still hate Christmas, Omi-kun?” The sly, foxy grin was back, full force. Kiyoomi left one quick peck on his lips before shrugging, the beginning of a grin resurfacing. “I guess I can tolerate it if you’re there.”

* * *

It was chaos after that.

The whole Itachiyama team was wide-eyed and silent as Sakusa told his coach that he will go home separately from the team. Inarizaki’s setter lingered outside their hotel door, sheepishly smiling and bowing as he waited for Sakusa to gather his things. This, when placed in the context of the whole team walking out of the gym and seeing their captain in liplock with the best high school setter, made it all much more embarrassing or funny, depending on who asked who. Komori’s phone was out the whole time.

As they settled on a ramen shop for lunch, Atsumu answered a phone call only to hear a screaming Osamu and a laughing Suna on the other end. “So I’m supposed ta hear about ya makin’ out with Sakusa-san from Itachiyama’s libero?! With a piss-ass grainy paparazzi-like photo? After ya asked to stay behind without a proper explanation?!”

Apparently, more people also had photos of the faithful parking lot moment, different versions of it spreading around the internet like wildfire. The two shut off their phones the whole day and explored the rest of Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden, this time together, until it was time for Atsumu to leave.

It was the general internet hype that had caused Kiyoomi’s plan to fail two days later when the person he was supposed to surprise was waving from him outside the train doors instead. Kiyoomi groaned, heavy basket in tow, as Atsumu laughed at his distress.

“It’s not my fault the woman at the booth was a fan and recognized ya, Omi. Stop poutin’ already.”

In the end, Atsumu brought Kiyoomi home and placed the bowls of umeboshi and fatty tuna Kiyoomi brought with him alongside the dishes his ma and Osamu cooked. Meeting the Miya family two days after they’ve confessed was not part of Kiyoomi’s plan, but nothing ever went according to Kiyoomi's plan, anyway.

 _I guess I don’t mind if this is what I get,_ he thought as he watched the twins bicker over the onigiris while their parents continued on indulging Kiyoomi in conversation, reflexively tuning out the chaos. It has been quite a while since Kiyoomi’s Christmas was this lively.

A little later he found himself in between the twins eating dessert on the sofa, watching a random Christmas movie on a local channel. Atsumu’s head was tucked in the crook of Kiyoomi's neck, breathing him in. 

“Hey, Omi-omi,” the blonde whispered. When Kiyoomi turned to face him, Atsumu raised a finger to the ceiling. He already knew what he was going to see, but it didn't stop him from rolling his eyes and grinning as he saw a mistletoe above them, its placement too specific to be coincidental.

“That’s just sad, Miya,” he began, mocking, as Atsumu smiled sheepishly and rested his chin on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “Are you a coward? Just ask for one.”

Atsumu grinned and moved, pressing his lips to Sakusa’s and tasting the sharp tang of umeboshi on the latter’s lips. The other end of the sofa rose with a grunt, followed by heavy footsteps. “At least give me a warning, goddammit.”

Atsumu laughed before grabbing Kiyoomi by his cheeks to pull his head down, kissing his moles. “Merry Christmas, Omi-omi.”

Kiyoomi tightened his hold around Atsumu’s waist, pulling the blonde as close as physically possible. “Merry Christmas, Atsu.”

Drunk in kisses and warm homecooked meals, Kiyoomi thought about how glad he is that Atsumu’s stupid enough to follow instructions from a red notebook.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is me self-projecting that Sakusa who speaks so little in real life says so _so much_ in writing because he only feels safe that way haha. 
> 
> Had to dig through some Twitter threads for this one. Here's some of them: a [signature reading](https://twitter.com/Amimochi_HQ/status/1319518755731353600?s=20) of SakuAtsu's signatures and a thread of the [team records](https://twitter.com/_mika60_/status/1323854567180820485?s=20) at national tournaments from the official HQ guidebook!
> 
> * * *
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/liliapocalypse), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/liliapocalypse), and [Tumblr](https://liliapocalypse.tumblr.com/) (it's liliapocalypse on all platforms).
> 
> Come yell at or with me on my [fic graphic](https://twitter.com/liliapocalypse/status/1342106149751951360?s=20) if that’s your thing!


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